Comfort in the Cold
by BehindEvilThoughts
Summary: I was horrified to discover that the sequel to my favourite Disney film, The Hunchback of Notre Dame was nothing but a soulless, cash grab. I was so dissatisfied, it inspired me to write a short sequel of my own. Fluff/Comfort/Trauma. Characters: Quasimodo, Esmeralda and Phoebus.
1. Chapter 1

Winter had arrived in Paris. And upon it's breath, it carried flakes and flurries of snow floating down from the heavens and across the city. The sky had grown dark and only the street lamps were aglow. Swift and steadily moving through the darkness was Esmeralda. Wrapped up in a violet cloak, she wandered down the cobble stone and towards the square. And before her stood Notre Dame. For many, it was a sight of splendour. Of safety and sanctuary. But a smile did not grace her lips, nor did fondness shimmer in her eyes. The Cathedral was unusually silent at an hour when normally it would be shaking with sound. This concerned her greatly. It was the reason for why she was here.

High up in the dark tower, the bell ringer of Notre Dame was asleep. The upper half of him was slumped over on the edge of a table. One hand sprawled out upon it, the other elbow propped underneath him. Every so often, he would twitch and mumble incoherent words. If one was skilled at listening, they would have detected a few words here and there, but nothing more. It wasn't at all uncommon for one to move or speak while dreaming. However, Quasimodo was not dreaming.

He was experiencing a vivid nightmare. One which he had already lived through once before.

His heart was pounding in his ears. The fiery smoke was billowing up towards him; the heat pierced his skin like knives.

He didn't dare look down, lest he become afraid and plunge down into the fiery abyss below. His strength was failing him. His body was getting weaker. He couldn't hold on much longer. He dared to look up upon the balcony and saw his master standing above him, a sword's hilt held firmly in his hands…his pupils burning with _Hellfire._

" _And he shall smite the wicked and the plunge them into the fiery pit!"_

Two hands placed themselves gently upon his back and Quasimodo sprung up to his feet, jolted awake and startled. His eyes still partially closed; his mind half asleep. "M-master! I didn't…I didn't mean to!" He yelled in a half-conscious and frightened state of being. Upon opening them further and turning around, the bell ringer could now see that the person in front of him was not the late Judge Frollo, but Esmeralda, his dearest friend. A long sigh escaped him. Fear had passed in waking reality and was now replaced with both relief and embarrassment.

Esmeralda smiled kindly upon him, just as she had the day they had met. "I didn't hear the bells tonight….I was worried about you. Are you…all right?" She asked calmly. A hand returned to his shoulder. Quasimodo gave a modest nod of his head. "I….I think so." In truth, he did not know for certain.

Unwrapping her cloak and sitting down beside him, Esmeralda turned to look at her friend in the eyes. He wasn't as shy around her as he used to be. She was so proud of him. And yet….she knew demons followed him to this place. And one demon in particular was haunting Quasimodo's mind tonight. She could see it plainly.

"I hope I didn't scare you…" Esmeralda said. The bell ringer could not help but smile faintly. He had once said those very same words to her.

"N…no. I was…..I was just startled." He paused for a moment, rubbing his hands together in a nervous state. The memories were still too close and the nightmares far too real.

Quasimodo wondered if they would ever stop.

"F…for a moment I thought…." Esmeralda looked at him with steady eyes, ready to hang onto every word he said. The bell ringer chose them wisely.

"I thought he was here…." He muttered quietly, still avoiding her gaze…as though ashamed. "…but it was just a dream…" Quasimodo said with a sigh in an attempt to reassure himself.

"Frollo?" Esmeralda asked quietly. She did not say it lightly. She suspected that the name would have brought upon a flood of memories, some fair but most bad….into her friend's mind. She suspected correctly. For now, all Quasimodo could do was nod his head solemnly.

The wind was picking up, stirring a drafty breeze into the tower. The bells above them swung every so slightly in the air. A voice within Esmeralda was crying out to be heard. And her intuition had never proved wrong before. She felt a tug on her heart and followed it with some degree of caution.

"Quasimodo? Do you…miss him?"

How could he answer this? She had not lived his life. She did not know Frollo as he had. From the comforts of an infant's blanket to the metallic vespers of the bells, the Minister had taught him every single thing he knew over twenty long years. There had been no lesson, no preaching and no lecture that had not come from him….until he met Esmeralda.

True, the man he had once called master was a heartlessly cruel man. And no one above or below this mortal realm could deny that. But even so….some naïve part of Quasimodo's mind still clung to a sense of obedience. Of loyalty to him, even beyond the grave.

A gentle soul can still see the best even in a wicked one. And for many years, he had been grateful to Frollo for many things. But now…. everything was different. He had only been told one truth. One lie, his entire existence. And now….he had to unlearn it. Unlearn everything he thought he knew about the man who raised him.

He felt no grief. Only deception. He had been deceived by the only person he could have ever called family.

If Quasimodo missed anything, it was not the man himself. Only the comfort and security of the lie which he had told him. Nothing more. He missed being ignorant of the truth. He missed the obliviousness of the reality which had been so carefully guarded from him for all of those years.

A part of him desperately wished he had never been told the truth about his mother. The times when he had believed his mother had heartlessly abandoned him is what he missed most of all. The truth was far more horrible than the lie had ever been.

"…. no. No, I don't." He said at last. The pause had felt like one hundred years for him. But for Esmeralda, he had made his answer quite quickly. This would have deluded her into believing that her friend had made up his mind months ago. But in truth, Quasimodo had not been so sure himself until she had asked.

"I….I just keep thinking….about the last thing he said to me." The bell ringer admitted. "About me….about…..my mother…"

Quasimodo let out a sigh of anguish and threw his hands up upon his face. "I wish I could remember her…." He whispered, holding back tears. Tears which had been festering in his heart for many weeks now.

Esmeralda frowned sympathetically. She reached over and gently took her friend's hands away from his face and held them in her own. She stared deeply into his eyes, emerald into blue.

"She would have been so proud of you, Quasimodo…." She spoke softly, a gently smile caressed her full lips. A smile that brightened even more when she saw one appear on her friend's face.

"You….you think she would?" He asked doubtful yet hopeful that Esmeralda was speaking nothing less than the truth.

"I know she would." The raven-haired woman answered with a nod. She then placed a kiss on the bell ringer's forehead before gently letting go of his hands. The two shared a pleasant, silent moment together.

"Well….I can't leave Paris waiting, now can I?" Quasimodo asked with a faint smile.

The bells for evening mass did not quite sound as beautiful as he had been able to make them before, but he was making admirable progress. In light of recent events, the bell ringer's spirit and vigor for his work had dampened slightly. However, he remained confident that one day…his passion would return.

The bells rung, the city asleep…it was now time for Notre Dame's bell ringer to take his rest for the night as well. Laying down upon a cot in a less drafty quarter of the tower, it didn't take long before the wind and snow soon lulled Quasimodo to a much-deserved rest.


	2. Chapter 2

The chill of the Parisian winter was still in the air. Spring was not to come for a short while yet. Parts of the River Seine had begun to freeze over and the citizens were bundled away next to their fires in their small, drafty homes.

The bells swung ever so slightly in their headstocks as another winter breeze swirled into the bell tower. Thankfully, it's occupant was keeping warm with the help of a new vice and some company.

"So….so explain this to me again…." Phoebus muttered in a half-inebriated state as he took another swig of red wine. "…you've lived in this tower for…. how many years?" He eyed the small, wooden recreation of the cathedral on the table beside him and squinted at it with an unfocused gaze.

"Twenty! How many…." Quasimodo hiccupped loudly and then proceeded to continue. "….times have I told you?"

Phoebus looked just as shocked as the first few times he had been told this and stared at the wooden figure in amazement. "Dear Lord…that's almost as long as the war was! What did you…what did you _do_ for all those years?" Phoebus asked in a tone that was far too serious.

Quasi said nothing but simply pointed to the bells above their heads with a poorly concealed smirk. Phoebus scoffed. "Okay! Okay wise guy...I meant _besides_ that…"

At this point the bell ringer started to chuckle quietly under his breath and pointed silently to the wooden carvings on the table before finally breaking into laughter. Phoebus briefly joined in before his smile dropped. His eyes scanned the table quickly before he turned to Quasimodo with an insulted expression. "Hey! When are you gonna make one of me?!"

"You can't rush good…." He hiccupped again. "…craftsmanship." Quasi took another sip of wine but upon doing so cringed and coughed loudly in disgust. Phoebus gave out a hearty laugh.

"You just drank from mine!" The captain managed to utter between bouts of chuckling. "This stuff is too much for a kid like you to handle…" He reached over and grabbed the mug from the bell ringer's hand.

"I am not a kid!" Quasimodo retorted with the sort of falsified anger that only an inebriated person can express. "I'll be twenty-one in April!"

Phoebus gasped and slammed his hands down on the table. His face turned coldly serious for a few fleeting seconds before he pointed firmly to his friend. "April! We gotta celebrate!" The captain paused briefly with his hand to his mouth and then he pointed at Quasimodo again. "I….am going to take you….to the best tavern in Paris!" Phoebus exclaimed loudly in excitement. "And then…." Phoebus raised his finger in the air for a few moments, grabbed the wooden figure of Quasi from out of the wooden bell tower and onto the table below. "We're gonna find some women." Brazenly, Phoebus took a figure of one the lady citizens and placed her next to the hunchback's carving.

Quasimodo's face flushed red and he laughed nervously. "Ah….I-I don't know….about t-that-"

"Oh, come on Quasi! You said it yourself! You're not a kid anymore. I think it's time you got outside again and took a good look at the people around you! Do you have any idea how lucky we are to…" Phoebus belched briefly into his hand. "….live in Paris? The city of love? With all of these beautiful women?!"

Quasimodo smiled bashfully and took another sip. "Y…. yeah. I-I guess you're right…. except for…the obvious…" He said with a small, self-deprecating chuckle.

Phoebus scoffed and waved his hand dismissively in the air. "Nah! A big, strong guy like you? You just gotta find the right woman!"

The bell ringer gave an earnest smile, as honestly as he could attempt in his drunken state. But then his eyes fell upon the Esmeralda figure and his smile faded. The first one had been burned badly beyond repair. He had tried his best to recreate it from memory, but it wasn't quite the same. He was not able to give it the same life that it had the night he had sung about her.

The night he thought there was a chance they could be together.

Phoebus watched his friend grow silent and followed his gaze to the Esmeralda figure. His mouth hung open slightly in realization. For a few awkward moments, he wasn't sure what to say but knew that he had to say something.

"Um….Quasi?" He asked with a cautious eyebrow raised. "Mmm?" The bell ringer looked up at the Captain curiously. Seemingly snapped out of his melancholy state.

"I…uh…" Phoebus scratched the back of his head uneasily while briefly avoiding eye contact. "….I hope there's….no hard feelings about….well….you know." He briefly gestured to the Esmeralda carving on the table with a movement of his head. Quasimodo looked at it once more, thought for a moment…and then smiled. He shook his head while looking at Phoebus sincerely.

"Oh no. Not at all." And he meant it.

Phoebus sighed in relief. "Oh….good. That's good." He said before sipping from his mug. Upon discovering it was empty, he reached for the wine bottle and tipped it over only to discover that it too, was empty.

"Dry as a bone." Phoebus remarked with a bewildered scoff. "Oh! I know where there's more!" Quasi interjected and stood up from the table. His steps were uneven and wobbly for a few strides before he finally found his balance again.

With lousy precision, the bell ringer clumsily made his way down the tower steps and onto the balustrade. He pushed open one of the tower doors and made his way inside. He saw a single, lonely bottle of wine and took it from off of a shelf. He blew the dust off of it and began to walk back towards the door. But as he did, his foot brushed against something hard and metallic. It clinked loudly and spun on the floor, gathering his attention.

With a bemused expression, Quasimodo looked down to see a small, shimmering blade beaming back up at him.

It was Frollo's dagger.

The bell ringer slowly kneeled down and with his free hand, grabbed it by the handle. He couldn't quite recall what had happened in his state. All he could remember was how betrayed he had felt. How so filled with rage and sorrow he had become when he thought Esmeralda was dead in his arms. He had grabbed his master's dagger and had moved towards him with it. And the only thing he could remember thinking, more than anything…was how much he wanted to use it on Frollo.

How much he had wanted to _kill him_.

But now…he was glad that he had not. The truth would have died with his master if he had. It was fortunate that he had been able to come to his senses to do what Frollo never could:

Show mercy.

When he had climbed up to the bell tower to rejoin Phoebus, he hadn't even noticed that he was still carrying the dagger.

Phoebus, at this time was finding great amusement in toying around with the many figures on the table in front of him. But when he looked up and saw his friend entering the tower, he knew something was wrong straight away.

"What is it?" Phoebus asked with a furrowed brow. The dagger in Quasimodo's hand spawned several questions in his mind.

The bell ringer sighed deeply. Without tearing his gaze away from it, he spoke softly under his breath.

"It was Frollo's…."

A cold silence filled the tower. For the first time that night, Phoebus did not know what to say.

He knew better than to ask about Frollo. There was no part of him that wanted to think about the ways in which that horrid man had raised this boy. Ghosts of the past were swirling in Quasimodo's eyes. Phoebus had seen that very same haunted look on the faces of soldiers returning home from war. Changed, broken…traumatized.

Quasimodo had fought a war of his own…and won. But at what cost?

"I….I'm sorry." Phoebus finally said and stood to his feet. "No. Don't be. I…I'm glad that he's dead. I really am." Quasimodo responded. But the tone of his voice was betraying him.

He did not sound at all like he had come to accept his guardian's death.

Without thinking, the bottle of wine slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor. But Quasimodo wasn't phased by it. He only continued to stare at the dagger in his hand as tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Just once….." He began. A tear spilled down his cheek. "…..just once would have been enough…"

"Quasi…." Phoebus said slowly as he began to walk towards him. Almost protectively, Quasimodo held the dagger close to him, clutching it firmly. "Just to hear him say it once…" He closed his eyes tightly as though in pain and let the tears run freely down his face. Phoebus frowned sadly.

"It wasn't your-"

"I tried….so hard….to be good. And I…. I-I did everything he asked of me! But…it was never good enough! I…. was never…. good enough…."

The bell ringer threw the dagger down to the floor in a brief, fleeting moment of rage.

"I didn't want a master…all I wanted…. was a father…."

Quasimodo dropped to his knees and cried loudly into his hands. Phoebus knelt down swiftly to him and wrapped his arms around the bell ringer in a tight embrace.

"Quasimodo, listen to me…it wasn't your fault. You hear me? None of that was your fault." Said Phoebus firmly. He didn't dare let go until he felt the moment was right. And when he did, he looked sincerely into his friend's eyes.

"Frollo…was a cruel and terrible man. But you survived him. And that makes you braver than half the soldiers I've known." As Phoebus spoke, he could see a small shift in Quasimodo's eyes. A faint glimmer of hope was returning to them after growing dark with despair.

"You…" The bell ringer began while wiping away tears. "…you…. don't really mean that? Do you?" He asked quietly.

"Every word." Phoebus assured. He took the dagger from the ground. As he rose to his feet, he grabbed Quasimodo's arm and lifted him up to his own.

"Come on." He motioned for his friend to follow him to the balustrade.

Overlooking the River Seine, Phoebus handed the dagger to Quasimodo wordlessly. The bell ringer reluctantly took it from him.

He looked out to the river, pulled his arm back and threw the dagger as hard as he could. It hurled through the air, over rooftops and houses until finally landing in the river with a distant splash.

Quasimodo closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank you…Phoebus." He said before turning to look up at his friend.

"No harm done. Well…except on the last of the wine." Phoebus muttered with faint disappointment as he turned to look back at the broken bottle on the floor.

"Oh…sorry." Quasimodo's eyes suddenly lit up briefly and he gave a faint smile. "I'm sure there's more somewhere."

Phoebus returned the smile and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "That's what I like to hear."


	3. Chapter 3

Sunday Mass. The holiest day of the week. Hundreds filed into the Cathedral and into the great hall to pray and celebrate. Meanwhile, high above in the tower, the bell ringer was hard at work.

Marie and Gabriel would soon join their sisters in the bellowing melody. It was the largest bell, Emmanuel who had begun to sing first. Her sound was deep, longing and resonated throughout the entire church; making the walls hum and vibrate in submission. Marcel followed up closely behind, ringing a more delicate yet equally beautiful song of her own.

Those who would say that it was impossible for one bell ringer to command several bells at once simply did not know Quasimodo, nor his incredible dedication to these grand instruments. Leaping across one platform to reach the other, he grabbed Marie's rope with two firm hands and pulled it down as hard as one could. The bell tipped all the way back to it's utmost capacity before springing back in the opposite direction, ringing out loud and bright, for all of Paris to hear her voice. Quasimodo scaled up a rope quickly to reach the platform where the final unsung bell was hanging, Gabriel.

Of all the bells in the tower, he thought her sound was the best. Or…at least…he did once.

He didn't want to admit it, even to himself…but recently Quasimodo was having great difficulty hearing. Even the bells seemed so much quieter than they had before. He could still feel their vibrations resonate throughout the tower, but it just wasn't the same.

There was no use in denying it any longer. The bell ringer was going deaf. And it was at the cause of the very things which he loved most. He could not hate the bells for it. It was not their fault that they sang so loudly.

It was not entirely his own fault either. He hadn't chosen this fate. It had been forced upon him from such a young age.

Frollo was gone. There was no one here to ensure that Notre Dame's bells rung on time. But Quasimodo hadn't dreamed of leaving it. Not soon, anyway. It was his place of work, but it was also his home.

 _Sanctuary._

He loved the cathedral. And he loved the bells even more. So much so that he felt his heart would burst with love for them. That is what had kept him here. His friends had urged him to leave, but he had politely refused. Though he had experienced more than his share of terrible memories here in this tower, there was some good among them too. And he held onto that good so tightly, he never wished to part from it. And besides…

Notre Dame must always have a bell ringer.

As Quasimodo wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up above at the swaying of the bells, he found himself dwelling into memory. A winter long since past.

Christmas Eve. The chill of the air outside couldn't hope to dispel the love and warmth from within the cathedral. Men, women, children and families of all community and age sat together. Rows upon rows of people sitting in the pews below as the Archdeacon gave the sermon.

Quasimodo was just tall enough to see above the stone railing on the second level to look down below upon the small mass that had gathered. He placed his hands upon the stone and watched with wild and curious fascination. He had never seen so many people in the church at once. It almost frightened him.

And yet, he desired a closer look.

The choir had now started singing. The beautiful music filled the cathedral and set the little hunchback's soul to ease. He couldn't hide a smile as he began to make his way down the steps. But he hadn't travelled as far as half way when a tall figure approached him from the bottom of the stairs. The swaying of obsidian robes was unmistakable and caused the boy to retreat slightly in surprise.

"O…oh….m…Merry Christmas…m-master." Said Quasimodo. This good-natured formality however did nothing to quell Frollo's severe expression. Dark, critical eyes narrowed as he carried himself up the steps towards the young hunchback.

"You are supposed to be in the tower, Quasimodo."

The boy felt his heart race a little too fast and nearly tripped on the steps as he backed away. "I…I-I'm sorry, master. I….I just wanted to see them."

"Suppose someone saw _you_. What would have happened then?" Frollo pulled up his sleeves to cross his arms. Quasimodo's eyes dropped to the floor, red hair hanging over his eyes in shame.

"I'm…very sorry, sir." He mumbled quietly while clasping his hands together in front of him. This penance somewhat calmed his guardian. Frollo gave a sigh and touched the boy's head with spidery fingers as he passed him by. Like a raven's talon to a mouse.

"You are forgiven."

Quasimodo sighed in relief. He watched as his master eyed the mass briefly before turning back to his charge. Hands steepled in front of him. He eyed the boy over once and gave a little nod of affirmation. What was being affirmed, however, was known only to himself.

"Hmm...perhaps you are ready now."

"…. ready?" The boy replied in confusion. "…for...what?"

"To make yourself _useful_."

The minister motioned with a beckoning wave of his hand. "Come." He spoke the word as though he were talking to a dog instead of a boy. And yet, Quasimodo followed obediently without question.

He followed his master up into the tower and then further up another flight of wooden stairs. And then another. Another. And suddenly, they were beneath the bells. Quasimodo stared in awe into the darkness of the bells. That darkness seemed endless, as though it spiraled on for miles.

"Now then, you must become familiar with these, Quasimodo." Said Frollo as he motioned to the bells with his hand. His voice carried upwards into the bells and echoed for a time.

"Should you fail to do so, you cannot hope to become even an adequate bell ringer."

The young hunchback froze on the spot. He drew his conclusions quickly and gave a small gasp of surprise in response to where they led. "Y-you….mean….that I-I'm going to be…."

"Quasimodo, I cannot abide your constant stammering. If you wish to speak, then do so clearly." Frollo said in a pained voice while placing a hand to his forehead. Quasimodo frowned in embarrassment and sighed.

"Y…yes, master. I'm sorry." He spoke softly before attempting to speak again. "I….just don't understand. I'm…going to be….a bell ringer?" He asked slowly, taking care to speak up.

"Yes, I believe that is precisely what I just said." Frollo responded curtly leaving no room for misunderstanding. Quasimodo gave a small gulp of anxiety as he looked up at the bells. They were so massive and towered over him so frighteningly, the boy could not understand how he was to learn how to control such terrifyingly large instruments.

"B...but I don't know how…" The hunchback exclaimed hopelessly as he stared into the darkness of those massive, bronze bells.

"In time….you will learn. And with practise, you will improve." Said Frollo in a passive voice, attempting to console the boy with the least amount of effort possible. He then moved closely to the boy, staring down at him with a baleful look of judgement for a crime he was yet to commit.

"But I will not have you shirking your duties and disgracing the good name of Notre Dame. You are to ring the bells on time. Every day, whenever they are required. Is that clear?"

"But master, I-"Quasimodo stopped talking the instant he met his master's baleful glance. And for a brief moment, it looked as though Frollo was about to raise his hand to strike him. "Y-yes! Yes, sir." The boy stammered at once. He clamped his hands over his mouth and took a step back in fear.

"Good." Frollo replied. His anger washed away in seconds, much to the relief of the boy.

"Now then, Mass ends an hour before midnight. That should be sufficient time enough for you to learn, I think. Those bells had better be ringing, _boy_. And Heaven _help_ _you_ if they are not."

Quasimodo nodded his head slowly in understanding, all while trying to hide his trembling hands. "Yes master…." He mumbled in a pitiful voice, not the slightest bit of confidence to be fond therein.

Frollo gave one last assertive look down at the misshapen child before turning swiftly on his heel and walking back down the stairs. The boy watched the Minister until he had disappeared out of sight.

His first attempt at ringing the bells was clumsy at best. The huge, bronze instruments were painfully heavy to ring and awkward sounding. To the Parisians down below, it would have been instantly apparent that they were being rung by someone who was not well versed in the art of it. However, as promised to his master, they were rung on time. Exactly an hour before Midnight. It was a start to the work that would shape the rest of Quasimodo's life forever.

Years later, the ringing of the bells was now such a significant part of Quasimodo's life, it was almost a second language to him. One which he spoke rather fluently and a beautiful gift of music for all who heard it.

It was a pity that the man who loved the bells more than anyone in Paris was the only one who could no longer hear them.

But not just the bells.

"Can't he hear us?" Phoebus asked with just enough caution in case their friend really was listening.

"Oh no…. I was afraid this would happen." Esmeralda lamented as she turned to Phoebus. Her face plagued with concern. The former Captain of the guards mirrored her anxious expression and placed a gently, assuring arm around her shoulders. Their eyes drew back up to Quasimodo, still standing silently. Still looking up at the bells in contemplative memory, as though he had become a silent, saint of stone himself.


End file.
